


Mirror Coat

by Nyanoka



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Age Difference, Aging, Cosplay, Established Relationship, Insecurity, Jealousy, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, Public Relations, Relationship Discussions, Show Business, Show Business Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka
Summary: What was supposed to be a sexy night with a maid costume and video chat sex turns instead into a night of conversations about where they stand with each other.
Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Wataru | Lance
Kudos: 18





	Mirror Coat

**Author's Note:**

> Whatever the near-exact opposite of a cougar is, that's what Raihan is. For whatever reason, he's probably the most "well-adjusted" of the adult trio/quartet whenever he shows up in my works. Idk, he just radiates "I do my taxes on time" energy to me. I get he's the "funny and wild" man most of the time in-game, but I prefer going for more serious depictions in my works. It is what it is really as unfortunate as it is. There's just not much "breathing room" or lightheartedness whenever he appears in my works anyway. No time for "funnyman" jokes or a snappy voice.
> 
> Though I think it may say something about Sonia if she ever ends up appearing in one of my works if this is considered "well-adjusted." I just abhor relationship dynamics that are "perfect" and/or simplistically normal if that makes sense. It's not interesting to write or to read on most occasions for me.
> 
> Also I do seem to be doing a lot of late-night conversation fics lately huh? I just think there's a certain melancholy that comes out at night, and it lets me explore different subjects better. Also this was supposed to be straight up just horny "maid costume" video chat sex, but apparently, I can't write PWP without bumping into some human fear or subject matter. Idk, I'm just moody lately, but I am rather drawn to the more somber subjects in fiction.
> 
> This is also a bit of a "cooldown" fic for me since I just want to have fun writing and not consider stuff as much, so it's a bit odd in some places. I am aware of that. Life's hard...

“I look stupid.”

“No you don’t.”

Well, that isn’t entirely truthful of him. Raihan couldn’t even see Lance, not as they are now—regions away from each other and conversing over cellphones. It isn’t even a shared video call. Instead, he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed and with his phone cradled between his cheek and shoulder.

“I’m forty-eight, Raihan. This outfit is rather…young for me.”

“Nonsense,” Raihan dismisses with a slight shake of his head before cursing lightly as he fumbles, catching his phone just as it slips. He’s too used to gesturing, more used to having Rotom handle these things rather than physically by himself. Thankfully, Lance doesn’t comment on it. Unlike his regular group of friends, Lance isn’t all too prone to teasing or shooting the shit. “You’ll look fine. You always do.”

It isn’t a lie—he truly does think Lance has a certain charm, a certain allure that made anything he wore appealing—but Lance only laughs, nervous and light.

“If you say so,” he replies, voice merely half-audible alongside the static. It isn’t a problem caused by their cellular networks or their distance—Raihan knows for a fact that they’re on the same network, and they both have fairly expensive data plans—but a fault of Lance’s choice of cell phone.

To be perfectly blunt, Lance’s phone is more akin to something out of a historical documentary than anything remotely resembling a modern device.

No touchscreen, no native Rotom compatibility, and no capacity for mobile payment.

It’s a horrifically outdated thing, only saved from truly being a museum piece by its texting and camera functionality.

Raihan has offered to buy him a more modern one—one of those sleek, newer touchscreen-based models styled after flip phones and catering almost entirely to nostalgia—but Lance always declines, something about newer models being flimsier, unsuitable for the wear and tear that his work for the League requires.

He doesn’t particularly understand his stubbornness on the matter—the other man isn’t even technologically inept, and he himself knows a few models designed specifically for both appearance and functionality—but he doesn’t push it all too much outside of the occasional comment and hint.

It isn’t embarrassment that drives his words, but rather, concern. He remembers Lance’s complaints—offhand mentions about how he frequently misses Karen’s texts and about how his group chats always seemed to malfunction among a variety of other problems.

But still, he has to admit, Lance’s tastes aren’t entirely awful. There is a certain charm to his phone—a rather literal one.

It’s decidedly old-fashioned, but the charm—a Goomy donning his now iconic orange headband—loops through the phone’s inbuilt hanger in a rather endearing fashion. It isn’t even held on by adhesive or through a plastic phone jack like how he sees Aria and the others decorate theirs.

Perhaps it’s odd in a way, but Raihan finds a certain charm in it—the juxtaposition of antiquatedness and modern trends.

It fits him, he thinks.

But still, it is the charm itself that warms his heart the most.

It isn’t because of narcissism—even he isn’t that arrogant—but in the meaning and memory of the piece itself.

The phone charm is one of his older, rarer, and now highly sought out pieces of merchandise, one of the trinkets from his pre-Gym Leader days, back from when he still roamed around Galar collecting badges.

It hadn’t been a particularly well-made or expensive thing to produce—it isn’t like the ones he approves of now: high quality, name brand, and potentially costing in the upper quadruple digits for the buyer—but he still remembers the thrill of seeing Lance with it.

They hadn’t been particularly close then—they had been strangers—or even simply in the same room. Instead, he remembers being eleven, verging on twelve, and watching one of Lance’s interviews in Ballonlea’s Pokémon Center.

He remembers the high of a close-victory—even with Duraludon’s type advantage, Opal’s Granbull and Florges had been difficult opponents to overcome—and the excitement of the minutes ticking down before his idol would appear.

The interview had been a simple one, no strange personal questions and no gimmicks. It had been a by-the-books sort of event—consisting almost entirely of questions concerning Lance’s work in the League and questions about his Pokémon—but still, he had watched eagerly.

When the interviewer had gotten to her final question, a simple issue of Lance’s suggestions for up-and-coming Trainers to watch for, Raihan had expected the normal set of responses—Ryuki, Benga, and so forth. He doesn’t expect to hear his own name or to see Lance pull out his phone, plastic Goomy charm dangling.

The swell of pride had been indescribable. He hadn’t been particularly well-known then, nothing worth advertising about or worth pushing merchandise for overseas. Perhaps it could have simply been for PR-related reasons then—the pioneer encouraging the rising star—but still, his own meager stock of merchandise had swiftly disappeared afterwards, all bought out, because of Lance’s recommendation.

At the very least, his dwindling travel fund had appreciated that boost of popularity. Unlike Leon, he hadn’t been able to depend on his family for emergency transfers. He’s not from a particularly well-off family, more lower middle-class than anything else.

It hadn’t been an issue of prize money either. He hadn’t been a bad Trainer in any sense of the word—his win/loss ratio is still rather good actually—but Dragon-types are exceptionally difficult to raise. They require more resources—more food, more care, and more oversight—than most other species.

It is an overly cynical train of thought, especially considering their own—rather intimate—relation to one another now, but the idea had flitted through his mind before, during his younger years and during the moments when their relationship had been just a bit newer, more clumsy fumbling and more gauging of boundaries.

They’re still fumbling through it really, but at the very least, they’re not back to awkward backtracking and excessive apologies.

Sometimes the doubt still returns, but Raihan quickly dismisses it, banishing it to the back of his mind. It has been little over a year and a half since the beginning of their relationship and a total of nine years since they’ve met in-person and begun correspondence.

It’s silly—paranoid even—of him to question the legitimacy of their relationship at this point. If it’s a publicity stunt, then _something_ should have happened already—a cheating scandal, some fanbase-splitting outburst, anything.

But still, the thoughts return from time to time. It’s not like his own assistant hasn’t suggested it before, to drum up more interest as it were.

Outside of their past together as fan and idol and their radical difference in age—Lance is old enough to be his father—they aren’t particularly interesting to the public eye. Lance is too private of an individual when it comes to his personal affairs, and Raihan, against his normal form, doesn’t post anything all too risqué on his social media.

The closest to scandalous that he’s gotten is a snapshot of a morning after—blankets draped past waist, partner still dozing, and implications abundantly clear—and a few baseless rumors that he quickly quells, always something about Leon, Piers, or even Sonia.

He’s not particularly interested in any them romantically; they’re all too familiar, all people that he’s essentially grown up with. Hell, he’s fairly certain he’s especially outside of Piers’s strike zone what with how much time he spends around Victor.

But still, outside of that, they’re rather normal in most aspects—not as interesting as whatever else is going on in the public sphere—and Raihan wants to keep it that way.

It’s not exactly his style, but it’s certainly Lance’s despite his public bravado. They may both enjoy the spotlight, but their tastes ran rather differently.

He doesn’t want to mess up—to push pass boundaries and ruin everything.

Raihan nods, almost dropping his phone again, before replying, “I do. I don’t lie about these things, ya know?”

He resists the urge to quip, to add in some tasteless flattery. Despite their time together, Lance is a rather formal sort of person for the most part—not affectionless, simply reserved. It’s rather unsurprising really. Johto is a rather traditional place compared to Galar, and Blackthorn in particular is a place steeped in tradition.

He continues, “But still, you’re comfortable with this, right? Do you wanna switch to webcam now?”

Another pause and the slight buzz of static, and Raihan almost assumes that Lance’s phone had cut off again—it is kinda shitty despite how much the other man swears by it—but Lance replies before he can ask again.

“I am.”

And that is the end of that.

*

There’s a particular excitement that hums through Raihan’s fingers and upon his spine as he waits for his laptop to load, fingertips tapping impatiently upon the keyboard’s keys. Certainly, the sex is exciting, but more than anything else, he wants to see Lance again.

It isn’t the same as meeting him in-person, but it’s at least better than the staticky phone calls, almost always cut short by some business or another, and the texts. It’s not like they could exchange videos either—Lance’s phone could only barely load the pictures Raihan sends—but at the very least, it’s better than nothing.

He doesn’t hate the texts and calls—he adores the low, vibrating thrum of Lance’s voice, and the way his accent curls on his _l’s_ —but it simply isn’t the same as hearing him speak in-person.

It doesn’t take long for him to find Lance’s icon or for the other man to accept his request for a video call, but still the cheery dial tone is painfully slow.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for the video to load.

And he had been right, more than right even.

Despite Lance’s claims, the dress fits wonderfully—white lace tight around muscular biceps and garter belt straps straining intentionally against fair skin and running coyly underneath the iconic black and white folds of the dress.

It isn’t entirely a traditional sort of fantasy—Lance is nowhere near slender enough—but Raihan couldn’t say his tastes ran completely on the mundane side. He’s not particularly interested in anyone his own age or in anyone who couldn’t, at the very least, bench press their own weight.

It’s simply his preferences really.

“You look great,” he says earnestly.

“Thanks.” Lance’s reply is stilted, entirely awkward, as he pulls at the hem of the dress. It’s a coy, unintentionally sensuous, sort of movement.

Or rather, it would be if it weren’t for the way Lance’s brow furrows and the way his lip quirks downward slightly. To anyone else, it would simply mean concentration or perhaps embarrassment—Lance’s cheeks are almost as red as his hair after all—but he knows the other man well enough.

Raihan frowns.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

A slight shake of the head, an overly forced smile, and another “yes.” It’s bland, practiced, and akin to the ones he himself uses for his interviews, entirely unauthentic and curated for the least offense.

“You don’t have lie.”

Another shake of the head before Lance replies, “I’m not.”

Raihan’s frown deepens.

“Are you su—”

“I am!” It’s an overly—unintentionally—forceful response, one that leaves them both stunned.

“I-I apologize,” Lance says, shifting once more upon his bed. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

In almost any other scenario, perhaps Raihan would joke, shower him in some form of flattery or tease him, but now, Lance’s response simply alarms him.

Lance isn’t one to lose his composure normally. He’s reserved, stoic with a dry sense of humor, and Raihan’s come to expect that, to appreciate that particular aspect of his personality. It’s endearing—different from the noise that he finds in Galar—and makes the occasions when Lance loses his poise all the more extraordinary

There is a particular joy he finds in being the one to make Lance laugh, to make him express anything more than the façade he puts up for the world and the show. In particular, he finds a certain thrill in knowing that he’s one of the few that Lance bares himself to, both in the metaphorical and in the literal sense.

Tonight, however, he finds none of that.

Only awkwardness and worry.

“Lance,” he says finally, “what’s wrong?”

Lance almost shakes his head again before stopping himself at the sight of Raihan’s expression.

“I”—he pauses—“I’m not very comfortable with this.”

That is a rather large understatement, but still, it doesn’t answer his question, not entirely.

“Yeah, but what’s _wrong_? Like specifically.”

Lance isn’t one to do anything he doesn’t particularly care for, occasional allowances aside, nor is he someone who keeps his grievances quiet. He’s rather blunt when he decides to be.

It makes their current situation rather disconcerting.

Raihan asks again, clarifying, “You usually don’t put up with anything you don’t like, so why this one?”

Another pause. Outside of the hum of his laptop and the occasional creak of a shifting bed, there’s only silence.

Raihan almost asks again, but Lance speaks first.

“It’s what you’re into,” he says.

“Yeah”—Raihan shifts, disturbing the sheets beneath him—“but we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. That’s what we decided.”

There’s certainly acts that he himself is uncomfortable with, and they’ve established their boundaries, agreed to speak up if they ever cross them as it were.

They shouldn’t be in this current situation—he half-dressed, Lance garbed in a fetishized maid uniform, and erections noticeably killed—but it isn’t annoyance that drives Raihan but simply concern.

“What’s bothering you, Lance?”

He expects another tight-lipped and perhaps carefully selected response, but he doesn’t get that.

Instead, he receives honesty.

“I”—Lance pauses—“I’m not young anymore.”

Raihan nods at that though he doesn’t quite understand what Lance’s point is. He has always been aware of Lance’s age and he to him in return. It’s public information, and it isn’t like Raihan had entered into the relationship with only the barest hint of knowledge on the matter. Hell, he had been the one to pursue Lance in the first place.

“I’m afraid that you’ll leave me,” Lance says finally. It is a blunt sort of answer even if it only serves to bewilder Raihan.

“Lance,” Raihan begins, “I’m not going to leave you over something this small.”

He’s not even sure where to begin on this—he’s a bit hurt really that Lance thinks so little of him—but Lance shakes his head again.

“I mean…I’m not young anymore, and you”—he pauses once more, collecting his thoughts—"have options, better ones even.”

Raihan almost speaks again, but Lance continues, “I found some white hairs in my shower drain the other day, and well, it makes me…nervous.”

“How so?” he asks. He has an inkling of Lance’s concerns now, but he doesn’t want to exactly wheedle him too soon.

“I mean”—a deep breath then, rustling cloth that covers his chest—“I’ll most likely die before you do, all things considering, and to be blunt…I’m not exactly your “style.”

Well, Raihan certainly hadn’t expected this sort of conversation, especially not dressed (or undressed) as they are. It’s a bit ridiculous in some sense of the word, but it’s not exactly humorous in his opinion.

He doesn’t know where to begin on this either, so he picks the smaller of the two issues first.

“What do you mean by “my style?”

“You’re a bit more…outgoing and open,” Lance corrects himself, “and I enjoy that, but I’m not. I can’t keep up with you or your interests, social media and all that. I’m a bit too old-fashioned at times—as you’ve hinted before with my phone.”

A mirthless smile then. It’s a poor joke on Lance’s part, but it does sent a bit of guilt to his heart. He hadn’t meant anything rude by his comments. He simply hadn’t liked how much difficulty Lance had with it.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Raihan says. “I just noticed how much trouble you had with it, you know? I like how old-fashioned you are.”

Lance nods, though Raihan doesn’t think he believes him, not entirely anyway. Despite the honesty, his words are a bit trite and simplistic, even to his own ears.

“But still, I know how old you are,” he says. “I didn’t come into this blind. I like you as you are.”

It’s not the best or most articulate set of words even in comparison to his previous words— it’s not even particularly comforting for that matter—but he’s honest.

He doesn’t want to say some bullshit about how he’ll have a longer-than-average lifespan either. That’s a lie, one that Lance would immediately notice.

Lance nods though the doubt lingers in his eyes and in his way his brow still furrows.

Raihan continues, “Really, I mean it.”

It’s awkward—the atmosphere around them now. He doesn’t how to continue really, but Lance speaks first.

“What about Leon?” he asks. It’s a sudden sort of question, one that Raihan doesn’t particularly understand.

“What abou—” Raihan notices the way Lance’s eyes shift elsewhere, and it clicks. “Did you actually believe those rumors?”

Lance doesn’t reply, and it makes Raihan feel worse, more so than before anyway.

“You really didn’t trust me?”

Lance replies this time, voice slow and hesitant and lacking in the confidence that Raihan’s come to expect.

“I do, but…you know how our jobs are. I didn’t know whether everything was”—Lance pauses as if to consider his words—“real or not.”

“So you didn’t trust me.” He doesn’t even have the energy to be angry now. He’s more disappointed than anything else.

“Haven’t you ever felt the same?” Lance asks. “You’ve been in this industry long enough to understand what it’s like.”

“I have,” Raihan admits after a pause. It doesn’t make him feel any less disappointed to admit it, but he isn’t going to lie to Lance to make himself look better. “But I never thought you were cheating with anyone else, and after nine years of knowing me, you thought I was that easy?”

“No!” Lance shakes his head. “I just don’t understand why you’d go for someone like me.”

Lance’s words serves only to bewilder Raihan.

A pioneer Trainer on the Dragon-type, a member of one of the most well-known Elite Fours in the world, and one of the most recognized faces in the world. The list of accomplishments simply went on and on.

Lance isn’t one to fish for compliments or to downplay his accomplishments either.

Raihan simply doesn’t understand his train of thought.

So, he asks, wary.

“What do you mean by that?”

Another sigh from Lance before he speaks, “I’m old, Raihan, and you’re well”—he motions with his hand—“young. You have everything set in front of you. You’re considered one of the premier trainers of the current generation, a rising star among rising stars. Almost explosive as Red, Ethan, and the rest of them, and I just don’t…get what you could get from me.”

“You thought I was using you as a steppingstone?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to rise, but it does—a mix of disappointment and now bits of anger.

If it were any other scenario—a sitcom on TV maybe—perhaps Raihan would find their current situation funny or nonsensical even, but he doesn’t.

It simply hurts.

Lance doesn’t flinch even as Raihan finishes.

He merely speaks, voice calm even as his hands shake slightly upon his lap, “Raihan, I’ve been in this industry for over forty years, since I was seven, and my great-grandfather gave me my first Dratini. I’ve had people try to get close to me, some for decades even. Almost everyone wants something when you’re famous.”

Lance pauses before continuing, “I can’t…trust easily. I’ve been burned too many times.”

Then why’d you accept my proposal?” Raihan interjects. At this point, he’s fairly certain that the hurt in his voice is audible. “If you thought I was just using you for fame or notoriety or whatever then why’d you say yes? Thought I’d make you look better? Some boytoy thing?”

The last part is entirely unnecessary, but it slips pass his lips anyway. He doesn’t like how it makes Lance flinch, but he couldn’t take it back or bring himself to apologize either.

He’s hurt.

Another shake of the head. “No, absolutely not.” His fingers are messing with the hem of clothes at this point, a nervous habit that Raihan’s entirely familiar with. ”I jus—I want us to be something. I wanted—I still do—to believe that it was genuine.”

“So you thought playing pretend was the best way to do that? Did you let me fuck yo—”

“No!” Lance’s voice rises. “No, I mean I didn’t do anything out of pretense.”

He sighs then. “I’m old, Raihan.”

“I heard you the first time. You don’t have to keep telling me that.”

“No,” Lance says, “I mean. I have nothing to offer you. You’re young, successful—more than successful even—and just…I can’t keep up with you at all. I don’t see why you’d want to be with me. There’s nothing left that I could offer that you couldn’t obtain yourself.”

There’s a hint of forlornness—a tinge of bitterness—in his voice as he finishes, and Raihan feels some of his anger fizzle out.

“Wait, are you jealous?”

Raihan’s not quite sure what he should feel. Certainly, there’s anger and disappointment—those hadn’t changed—but still, he feels the beginnings of uncertainty encroach.

Lance nods. “I am.”

It’s a blunt sort of answer even as he hears the tinge of reluctance in it. Unsurprising, it’s not exactly something most would be willing to admit to, especially in their current situation.

“Why?” It’s not the most articulate of questions, but it’s the best that he could do, all things considering.

“When people look at you, they don’t see someone on the verge of retiring,” he says. “They don’t assume that you’re a washout only allowed to stick around because of legacy and tradition.”

Lance shifts again. “You have options, Raihan. I don’t understand why you would ever go with someone like me. You’re rather image-oriented at times. You must know what they say about me, about you?” Another mirthless smile. “Cradle robber, gold-digger, chickenhawk. There’s an assortment of terms you can pick from.”

Another shift. “I don’t have anything I could offer you from this relationship.”

Raihan frowns. He’s not particularly keen on how their conversation keeps returning to that matter.

“Lance,” Raihan begins, “I didn’t ask you to date me because I wanted something. I just want to be with you. You’re…well, my idol. I remember watching your matches with my mom back before I started my journey. You’re part of the reason I even decided to train dragons.”

His words wouldn’t be as much of a consolation for Lance really—it probably reminds him of his age—but he’s honest at the very least.

“I just…why didn’t you just ask or tell me?”

“We’re talking about it now, aren’t we? Though it’s not going very well.”

Another jest in poor taste and in poor timing. His own sense of humor truly is rubbing off on Lance.

“You know what I mean. Why didn’t you tell me before”—Raihan makes a small motion with his hand—“all this?”

It’d certainly would have saved them both some trouble and some heartache. Even now, he still feels the simmer of anger and hurt.

“I’m not a very open person,” Lance says after a pause. “It’s difficult for me to articulate my feelings let alone share them. The last time I did, it ended up in some tabloid magazine. Besides, how would you go about asking?”

“Probably not in a maid costume,” Raihan replies. It’s a rather sarcastic response, but at the very least, it earns him a small quirk of the lips from Lance. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close enough.

There’s a certain awkwardness that descends upon them afterwards. It’s not a particularly pleasant one, but Lance, at the very least, is courteous enough to break it first.

“I…want to apologize for everything. I should have said something sooner and perhaps in a less presumptuous way.”

It’s a stilted and clumsy sort of apology, but it’s _something_. At the very least, it eases some of the tenseness he feels.

It’s not like he was entirely in the right either.

“Same”—Raihan rubs the back of his head with hand—“I want to apologize for what I said. It’s just…you really didn’t trust me? After nine years?”

“I do. It’s just…” Lance trails off. “I’m not used to having a relationship, a romantic one I mean.”

Awkward. So very awkward.

Raihan shakes his head. “Still, we need to talk whenever something comes up.”

He couldn’t say he was entirely over everything, but he doesn’t particularly want to escalate the situation again. But still, they couldn’t sit around all night or leave as they are. Sex is out of the question as well. He doubts either of them are in the mood anymore.

So, he tries for the next best thing. It’s an awkward sort of offer, but it’s one that he often does when he has a spat with his own friends.

“Do you want to watch a movie together? After you change I mean. We can sync it.”

There’s a pause before Lance nods.

“Alright.”

It’s not an easy sort of atmosphere, not like yesterday, but at the very least, it’s better than before. It’s not the best sort of occasion, more of a Band-Aid fix than anything else, but it’s close enough to their old normal for tonight.

They could always figure out in the morning or perhaps the day after.

They always would.

**Author's Note:**

> Why is Lance kinda old (well 48 isn't that old, but it's old for general fanfic culture anyway)? I like age gaps, and I went specifically with "closing in on fifty" rather than 50+ because it's an almost "precipice" of midlife for most people+SUMO/USUM has Red and Green show up as adults, so I'm actually playing closer to timeline this time (well sorta; Pokemon doesn't really have a canon one). I like to think Lance is 25-28 range during RBGY/FRLG. On Raihan, I like to think he's twenty-four. 
> 
> I just think there's a bigger impact that way.
> 
> Could Raihan have slipped a joke in somewhere in this? Maybe, but I decided not to since the subject was "fear of aging, fear of being forgotten for someone new and young, and fear of being left for someone younger." I just don't think Raihan's tone-deaf enough or enough of an asshole to make fun of Lance or play off his fears with jokes. He probably knows when to be serious, ya know? He has his own in this as well. It's just not as at the forefront.
> 
> Neither of them are particularly right either. It's just that they're varying degrees of wrong. Raihan's a bit too brash and inconsiderate/not communicating at times, and Lance is that same "inconsiderate" nature alongside having a very "odd" way of viewing romantic relationships as "give and take transactions" which stems from his implied past. He's too much of a people-pleaser at heart too tbh. I don't like to pass judgement when I write tbh. I think it's more interesting to let the reader decide.
> 
> Additionally, Idk why Gym Leader/Public Figure politics interest me so much in the Pokemon universe, but it does, so it's been showing up in bits and pieces. Additionally, I decided to consider Pokemon world money as equivalent to Yen hence why Raihan's pricing is so huge.
> 
> Cut Scenes: Very unfortunately, the scene where Lance flexes and he accidentally pops a button off of his costume (it's just too much tonal dissonance), mutual masturbation, whatever you call telling someone how to touch themselves, basically all of the horniness, another jab at Piers for being a cradle robber
> 
> Why does Lance get to keep his costume on through this? I thought it was almost nonsensically amusing in a way + it ties into the idea of perception (self VS others). As horrifically "post-modern" as it sounds, it's symbolic in multiple ways.
> 
> I also understand that the ending is a bit odd, but I decided to go with it as an intentional choice. It's basically because I want an "awkward" ending because this is essentially their first major conflict and something that they haven't worked out entirely yet. This oneshot is basically insight into the beginning of the conflict. Do they eventually work it out? I like to think so, but it's not something I'm interested in resolving in word. I'm also not satisfied with narrative voice again, but eh, this was supposed to be PWP ya know? It just spiraled into something else.
> 
> And I didn't want to do hero worship to a large amount since timeline-wise for this fic, they've been together/known each other for awhile. It wouldn't make a lot of sense to me. Though Raihan still admires Lance greatly and vise versa. The whole Old VS New again.
> 
> Also the implication that Raihan tops? Also personal preference and because I usually see it the other way around on Twitter, and I'm fond of "Young/Older."
> 
> As an aside, I'm not quite sure what I want to do as my next "main" project. Either AZ/Calem or Piers/Victor (again, but now with darkfic edge). Idk, I'll figure it out eventually.


End file.
